• There are two roads.
    One ends at the mouth of an ocean.
    One ends with the thickest fog.

    Both, man does not know where it ends.
    Both are shrouded in mystery.

    Which would man take?
    Both roads are filled with blood, smothered in the color red. Which shall he take?
    The man is still. The man remains.
    He does not know where to go. Either way, he shall suffer. But which road carries the least pain? Which road allows him to be free?

    "Perhaps I can tie a rope to myself and this tree to return to try again."

    So this, he does.

    One end to the bark of an ancient willow tree
    whose leaves droop as if he is sad.
    One end to the wrist and waist of the man
    whose hesitance may kill him.

    So, securely tied, the man advances.
    So, the man endures the horrors of the path he has chosen.
    But now he cannot. He has given up. He has returned to the willow.

    "O, willow, where must I go? What must I do?"

    The willow just swayed, unempathetic to pitiable humanity.